


Simmer.

by NarcisseNoir



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Dialogue Heavy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal is trying to be better, Hurt/Comfort, Inner Dialogue, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Canon, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, be gay do crimes, dark Will kind of if you squint, no emotional manipulation we like healthy relationships in this house, or as healthy as they can be because they still do murder and shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22660579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarcisseNoir/pseuds/NarcisseNoir
Summary: They fall into oblivion. The deep-sea swallows them up and spits them out by the shore — alive, from all things. Their bodies are slashed, bruised and torn apart. Nothing new there.They survived the chase, the Dragon, and even death insistently knocking at their door. But a question looms over Will's mind like a low hanging fruit, too ripe to remain attached to the tree:Can they survive each other?
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Chiyoh (mentioned but not explicit), Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	1. Winter Wonderland.

**Author's Note:**

> I just recently watched Hannibal, and oh boy, I was not ready for such heartbreak. This fandom has the most amazing fics and I've been reading a lot of them since I finished the last season.  
> The end was so tragically beautiful that I felt compelled to write something about their lives after the fall.  
> Hopefully, some of you will like it.  
> ps: this work has no beta. All mistakes are mine. Please let me know if you find any.  
> ps2: feel free to leave any suggestions, comments, or critiques.  
> <3

Fresh out the belly of the beast, the proverbial eye of the storm, Will spent days in and out of consciousness, his eyes heavy from the drug-induced confusion. Wherever he was, Will was being cared for. By whom he couldn’t say for sure, but it was safe to bet on Hannibal as his keeper. _But hasn’t he always been? Keeper, mentor, judge, and executioner._ The all-encompassing force that nurtured and destroyed him at the same time. His body had barely survived Hannibal's constant assaults to its integrity. And his mind… better not to dwell on such dangerous realms.   
  
Nothing good waited for him there. 

When bits of his consciousness finally graced him with their presence, Will found himself in an unfamiliar environment. A weird-looking room with a textured burgundy wallpaper, thick carpet and heavy velvet curtains covering what he assumed were windows. Too many of them. _Who needs four windows in a single room?_ The place had an odd scent to it as well, like it had been kept closed for far too long and the particles of dust and dirt that remained inside had somehow started some sort of fermentation process when left to their own devices. It must have driven Hannibal insane to stay inside — his nose was sensitive to the littlest of odors. _That’s the same atrocious aftershave you wore in court._ He had told Hannibal he kept getting it for Christmas when in reality he gave little to no care about the way he looked, and certainly none about the way he smelled. He had never met someone who cared so much about the minuteness of things, and being scolded like that about his carelessness sounded so foreign yet so close to home, that he felt the need to justify himself somehow. If Hannibal saw past his boyish lie, he didn’t comment on it. 

His cheap aftershave was but a forgotten memory of a past life. Now he only smelled like blood. _And Hannibal._

Removing the blanket that covered his body, Will found himself wearing nothing but black boxer briefs he did not remember possessing. Beside him on the bed was a fresh change of clothes, most likely for him to put when he woke up, or after he had taken a shower. He felt goosebumps sitting atop his moist arm, and recalled the feeling of a gentle coolness being spread across his skin, limb by limb, to alleviate his feverish discomforts. Hannibal had been bathing him with a cloth, no doubt. 

An uninvited blush crept across his skin, turning his previously dull complexion bright red. He had hoped to retain. He had hoped to retain just a little slice of his dignity intact, but his traitorous responses would not allow him such grace.

“Are you feeling warm again, Will?” 

Hannibal appeared on the door frame as if summoned by Will's constant thoughts of his name. He chuckled, imagining the distinct psychiatrist as a cartoonish character who was bound to appear if you called for him enough.

“Perhaps I should check your temperature once again. Better not to take any risks”

“No—” Instinctively, Will covered his exposed body with one of the heavy blankets, as if to protect himself from Hannibal's gaze. _He has seen much more than this_ , his mind provided. _He has bathed and changed you. Probably seen every bit of your skin as it is. Exposed. Naked._ Heat radiated from his face at the thought, contaminating his neck and chest with the same revealing shade. “I'm fine. Better.”

Hannibal walked calculated steps until he reached the foot of the bed and unceremoniously took his hand to Will's forehead. His touch was gentle yet firm, reminding Will of the sparse times his father stern hands would touch his warm skin when the boy was sick. The only time he was ever allowed the niceties of gentle parental care. His father was what everyone liked to call “old-fashioned” when they actually wanted to infer that said person was incapable of expressing anything other than rugged masculinity. No touches of the shoulder, no pats on the back to let Will know that he had done a good job on whatever task he had been given, and definitely no hugs. It probably didn’t help that Will himself was not the most willing recipient of physical affection, so his father didn’t even bother trying to reach him. Or maybe he wasn’t good with touch _because_ his father didn’t bother touching him. _Tomato-_ Tomahto; it all equated to the same thing: Will was a grown man who craved and dreaded physical contact with such a strength that scared even himself sometimes. And he was currently sharing a roof with a serial murderer and cannibal, so that said something.  
  
His mother, on the other hand, couldn’t be more different. He told Hannibal he had never met her, but that hadn’t been the truth. It was out of possessiveness for a ghost memory and the innate need to keep his fortress up that he had denied the other man this knowledge. _His mother_. The little he did remember of her was bathed in a fairytale-like warmth that only the mind of a child could recollect — or fabricate. She liked to snuggle on his bed at night, enveloping his small body on a loose hug, and read some of the classics to him while twisting one of his curls on her finger. Or at least it's how he remembers it. If it was an actual real memory or just the confabulation of a lonely child starved for attention, it mattered very little to him. It was a good memory, and he would keep it that way.   
She used to mold his curls one by one after washing his hair too, said that it made him look like a cherub: innocent yet righteous. If only she could see him now that he couldn’t be further away from both things. He had seen enough blood and gore for a lifetime — carried some of that same blood with him —, and had betrayed the vows he made to his friends and family, all because of him. _All for him_ , a more indulgent part of himself supplied. _Don't lie to yourself. You’ve done it all for him. And given the opportunity you would do it again, wouldn’t you?_

Would he?

Meanwhile, Hannibal's hand still rested on his forehead. The ghost of a touch's past, given by the man himself, igniting unknown sensations he preferred it to keep unnamed. 

“You're rather flush, I'm afraid” Hannibal concluded, taking his hand from Will's forehead to his cheek and into his neck, holding the back of it and making blue eyes land on him. Will's lips parted involuntarily. Hannibal chuckled. _A breach in the wall he so carefully constructed around himself_. “If not fever than perhaps another affliction.” 

Will shook his head, tried to recollect his fuzzy thoughts. “No other affliction. It's just… It's warm in here. Why It's so warm in here?” 

His skin was damp, moisture collecting on small drops as dew on top of the grass after a gentle rain. It reminded him of endless boat rides with his father on the many swamps of Louisiana. The heat often overwhelmed him, but he could find it in himself to enjoy the ride once the cool wind had found them worthy of its presence. One lone drop ran down the side of his face, and Hannibal was quick to catch it on the tip of his finger. Will's eyes watched in awe as he brought it near his face to… _inspect it?_ For a split second, Will thought he was going to bring it to his lips and consume it. _Is Hannibal in love with me?_ Bedelia’s voice came to his aid, in the quotation he already knew by heart: Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Yes. But do you ache for him? _Do I?_

It wasn’t lost on him that she had adapted a line of dialog from one of Dante’s sonnets to answer his question. And how fitting it was to their situation it almost seemed that Dante himself had been sitting atop a cloud somewhere watching their interactions and making sly notations every time they were engrossed in deep conversation on one of their sessions. Dante's Inferno, Hannibal's heaven and Will Graham's personal hell right on earth; all realms coexisting inside the psychiatrist’s office. 

“Yes, you might be right. This is the only room where the central heating actually works. The outside is not as welcoming in terms of temperature.” 

Will looked back towards the window but the heavy velvet curtains didn’t allow for any vision of the outside.“Snow?” 

“Yes, hence the clothes I prepared for you. Do you need assistance with putting them on?”

Will had the presence of mind to look indignant at Hannibal's question. “No, I can get dressed by myself.” A ghost sense of morality born simply from habit rather than necessity. Hannibal never seemed to care about things such as modesty and delimitations of personal space when it came to Will. 

“Very well then. Please join me downstairs once you're ready. I made dinner.” 

Will watched as Hannibal's silent steps guided him towards the door and out of the bedroom. He closed the door behind him, not allowing the cold air to breach in. Yet, somehow, it seemed warmer when Hannibal was inside.

Dragging his abused body across the bedroom felt like a Herculean task, but one he would have to complete eventually. Leave it to a Dragon to break them almost beyond repair.   
Inspecting himself in front of the bathroom mirror, Will’s eyes immediately landed on the newest mark gracing his face, followed by the one on his chest. _That's all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us._ He had rested his heavy head on Hannibal's chest, listened carefully to his heartbeat — calm and steady, despite the rush of adrenaline still coursing through their veins. It sounded like contentment. Like the man had finally found all the answers he wanted on the edge of a cliff. And his reward had been a plunge into the great unknown. New questions without an inkling of an answer. Will had intended to gift them a merciful end — theatrical for sure, like a twisted Romeo and Juliet if both of them had bathed Verona with the blood of their familiars —, but somehow they had survived. They were supposed to be done, finite. Like a play that had finally come to the end of its run on stage, some unfulfilled affairs were meant to remain that way. But Shakespeare had not prepared him for such turn of events. 

  
His body bore the proof of his complicated and volatile relationship with Hannibal, fomented by blood and death. His scarification — physical and otherwise —, had begun the moment they lay eyes on each other. Better yet, the moment he had refused to meet Hannibal´s eyes amid conversation and the man was quick to point Will's shortcomings. They had set the first challenge. Will looked him dead in the eye just to prove he could, that he too knew how to play that game if necessary. He saw eyes ablaze disguised as simmering heat. Even then, he should have known. Eyes are distracting, that much is true, but there is only so much hiding they can do. And Hannibal´s eyes had laid out his truth from the very beginning. _Look at me, Will Graham. See me. See through me. Find out who I truly am._  
Hannibal´s words were deflections, a broken compass that pointed everywhere but north. The rational side of his brain conveyed language as a means to an end, and his goal was always to remain unchained. A beast free to roam into the night, to do as it pleased. _But his eyes_. Every look stolen in passing, every lazy glance, every stare held for far longer than it was comfortable for polite interactions; they were pleas. _See me, Will. I’m right here._  
Will had been blind. Too many dead girls and crying parents. Spilled blood and missing flesh. Jack pushing him past the breaking point, Alana trying to distantly put him back together, Freddie poking at his open wounds and broadcasting the hurt before it could heal.

And then Hannibal opened the door to him, made room for the man at the table. Fed him lies, drank from his truth. Gave him a child, took her from him. Picked at his scraps and made them into something worthy of a proper meal. 

Will had been overheated glass from the start, just one burn away from shattering. Hannibal had been the single candle who set the whole house on fire. 

Later, he found him downstairs, sitting at the table, waiting. It wasn’t the first time he had let Hannibal waiting to commune with him. Will was sure it wasn’t going to be the last either.

“Who's house is this?” Will asked as he carefully descended the stairs — his body was not yet used to the pains of restless movement. Once he reached the table, the cold air sat uncomfortably on top of his bruised skin. Luckily there was fire crackling somewhere near. The heat of the flames would do for now. “Won’t our hosts join us at the table?”

“I was not lying when I said I had a place prepared for us.” Hannibal could see Will's attentive eyes scanning the chipped walls and the more than simplistic decoration. It was tacky on the best of lights, vulgar if one looked close enough. He was a simple man, his Will, but he knew Hannibal well enough to assess that their current location was far from what was expected from a man of such class and poise. “I don’t intend this to be our definitive housing, of course. We are but passengers in this location. Our destiny will take us somewhere grander.” 

“Aside from your memory palace?” 

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly, showing the tip of a pointy canine. “I'm hoping this one will go far beyond memory.” 

They sat at the table; each man on their respective corner prepared to share yet another meal. It wasn’t up to Hannibal's usual theatrical standards but it was a feast nonetheless. 

“Who are we eating?!”

Hannibal chuckled. “I'm afraid I haven´t found anyone rude thus far. It's deer.”

“Was the deer rude?”

“Not to me, no.”

“Pity. I'm sure you would love some poorly behave deer to punish.”

“Animals are neither good nor bad, Will. They simply are. You might antagonize the snake as it pounces against a mouse, but releasing the rodent from its destiny will only render the snake hungry, and the mouse free to find itself once again in harm's way.” 

“Am I the rat in this analogy, Dr. Lecter? Am I to assume you consider me prey?” 

Hannibal didn’t miss Will referring to him by his title and not his name. He had called him Hannibal amidst their confrontation with the Dragon — had even called their doing beautiful —, but the fall had somehow changed things. He had hoped for the better, but if Will's behavior served as an indication they were far from being in good terms.

“We are both the snake, Will. I thought you would've known this by now.”

“And all this time I thought I was the mongoose. Wasn’t that how you saw me back then?” 

“My perception of you changed with time. Or maybe I just learned to see you better. Don’t you think?”

Will didn’t respond. Instead, he busied himself with inspecting his plate and its contents, moving the food from one side of the plate to the other, only to then unceremoniously bring it to his lips. Will seemed famished, but Hannibal guessed he was yet unsure of his own appetites. They had time to investigate all of Will’s predilections. He had lost some weight since the fall too. Not enough to lose his sculpted yet lean physique — maybe not even enough for someone less observant to notice —, but nothing escaped Hannibal’s keen eyes. Especially regarding his Will. For two weeks he was feed nothing but various soups enriched with Consommé, and the occasional warm Vichyssoise, on the days he was being particularly responsive. He was not a picky eater by any means, but his many wounds made his healing difficult, and with that Will was too weak for the efforts needed in savoring solid foods. Now that he was once again able to fully enjoy his meals, Hannibal knew it was only a matter of time for him to return to his physical prime. 

“Is the dinner to your liking?” Will nodded, with a mouthful. “I’m afraid it's not the best showcase of my abilities, but it was the best I could do with so little preparation.”

“It’s good. Thank you.” 

“There’s no need to thank me, Will. After all we’ve been through to get here, I thought we could use a good meal. Even if it’s not exactly like we’re used to.” 

“Speaking of which… how did we get here, anyway? I assume none of our belongings survived our little soireé into the sea. I'm still surprised we did.” 

“After we washed up on the beach, I carried you towards the closest residence at sight and luckily it was vacant. Probably a summer home from a good Midwestern family. The fake rock they used to hide the spare key stood out like a sore thumb, as they say. I got in and called one of my associates to let him know where to pick us up. From there he took us to his house where we remained hidden for a couple of days waiting for the papers for our escape.”

“By associates you mean _other_ serial killers?”

“I am first and foremost a businessman.” 

Will chuckled.

“I know you mean business, Dr. Lecter. I’ve been on the receiving end of many of your endeavors before, but I admit I didn’t take you as the investor type.” 

“Someone who enjoys the kind of lavish lifestyle I do must prepare for rainy days, for they are sure to come our way.” Hannibal filled both of their glasses with wine. A robust Mourvèdre perfect for the fresh venison cut. A little higher in alcohol content than most from its family, but he knew by experience that Will could handle his beverages well. “We are amidst a storm after all.”

“And who are we now, exactly?” 

“Darius and Oscar Cormier.” 

“Darius _and_ Oscar Cormier? Same last name?” Hannibal nodded in response, savoring his perfectly cooked meat: not too tough but not overly tender either. The ideal browning on the outside, revealing the delectable pink within. “We don’t look like brothers.”

“We are not.”

Will nodded, drinking the rest of his wine — it was a perfect pairing, he would give him that. Now that he knew how to read the man, Hannibal was as subtle as a hungry infant. Using all but his words to convey his desires. “Cormier is Cajun French. Old Louisiana name.” 

“I know.”

“So you took my last name then? Very progressive of you, Doctor.”

“Best not to sound too foreign.” 

“Yes, _Darius_ , best not to sound too foreign.” Will crossed his cutlery on top of the clean plate, signaling to Hannibal that his appetite had been satiated.“Wouldn’t it be more inconspicuous to travel as two strangers? Always arriving and leaving separately, for appearance's sake, of course.” 

As if commanded by Hannibal’s inclination for a sweeter note on his palate, the oven timer set off. _Dessert is ready_. He got up and opened the oven door very gently, not wanting to risk disturbing the delicate form of the souffles. He presented one to Will, which he politely declined with a wave of his hand and an apologetical expression. Hannibal knew that Will wasn’t much of a dessert person, but the doctor was confident he would venture into new flavors if given enough time and opportunity.

“It would be ideal, but I was unsure of how your recovery would proceed, and I believe it would be very attention grabbing to see a man carrying a somewhat unconscious stranger around for no apparent reason other than the kindness of his heart.” 

“And we both know you don´t have much of that inside yours.” Hannibal's eyes glistened with humor. It was somewhat comforting to know that after so many disturbances in the status quo, some things remained the same. The man still had a tender spot for his demonstrative rudeness. The dinner had come and gone, and curiosity bent Will’s mind into various shapes. “You didn’t tell me where we are.”

“You didn’t ask.” Will stared at him, one wild eyebrow raised, the other so low it almost touched his eyelashes.“Manitoba. Just outside of Winnipeg to be exact.” Surprise crossed Will’s face and for a moment he stood still, unable to make even the slightest of movements. Hannibal was quick to notice the change in his demeanor. “Is something wrong, Will?” 

He straightened his back, in an attempt to recover from his previous state.

“Isn’t Canada a little too… bland?” Hannibal laughed, the innuendo certainly not lost on him. “I figured you would want to live somewhere in Europe where the food and the culture were more of your tastes.” 

“For now is the best place we can be. It's simpleton and regular enough that might just fly under the radar. Surely the FBI's tentacles can't reach everywhere.”

“And our cover story? We'll need to leave the house sometime.” 

“ Since this won’t be our permanent residence, I thought it was best to choose something simple and straightforward.” When Will didn’t offer any indication that he would intervene, Hannibal went on. “We are a married couple enjoying our overdue vacation.” 

At the mention of marriage Will’s eyes instinctively landed on his ring finger; the wedding band nowhere to be seen. Only the faint line left behind as a sign that his previous life as a respectable married man and step-father had not been another fabrication of his overly imaginative mind. Had he lost the ring in the fall, or had Hannibal deliberately removed it from his finger? He looked at Hannibal’s hands then: _sans_ ring in any of his fingers. Weren’t they supposed to be a married couple now? _What about our_ — no, his mind would not go there. He would not let it. They weren’t a couple enjoying an overdue vacation; they were two fugitives hiding from the law and all the implications derived from their careless actions. Except everything had been planned from the beginning, meticulously orchestrated so they would end up exactly where they were. If not consciously by him, certainly by Hannibal. The man had less of an inclination for self-deflection. 

Fighting his restless thoughts, Will opted for getting up and observing the outside from one of the windows. Everything was covered in white, like one of Monet’s famous landscapes.   
He was reminded of one of his times in Louisiana — Lafayette if he was recollecting properly —, when he was left to entertain himself in the city while his dad had a meeting with a local buyer. He had roamed the streets endlessly until he found what was most likely the only bookstore on a 40 miles radius. Little Will Graham had exactly eleven dollars to his name, and a thirst for adventures no amount of books would quench.   
The owner was an older woman, with long braided hair — fifty-something, or maybe much younger. He was a child then, everyone seemed old to him. She had greeted him with a warm smile upon his entrance. Much warmer than anything he had ever gotten from his father, so he decided that was the place he wanted to be. Aline — that was her name —, helped him choose books that suited both his preferences and his budget, but were still not too big that he couldn’t carry inside his small backpack. His father didn’t like him spending money on superfluous items. He was surprised that the man even knew what superfluous meant.  
When it was time to pay for his purchase, he took notice of a rack full of postcards by the register. Mostly landscapes, some of famous touristic spots across the country and the world.   
Hidden amongst the large statues and tropical settings, was a winter wonderland by the name of Winnipeg, Canada. Back then he had never seen snow, and all the places he had ever been with his father were warm enough to have melted his thoughts off his head. Aline smiled at him knowingly, handing him the postcard as a gift. She had said to him it was Christmas every day up there, nothing but white snow and cozy living rooms. Families singing songs of joy and endless presents to open. The picture seemed drastically different from all the Christmases he had with his father — all bathed in too much alcohol and too little care —, so he vowed that one day he would have a winter wonderland of his own. 

It seemed like some sort of surreal serendipity — an alliteration of all things —, that he had found his way there so many years after. The memory had never even crossed his mind again until Hannibal had said the name of the city. But then again, his tone had a way of awakening things inside of Will. If memories or feelings, it mattered very little at times. He did his best to bury them back just as they took their first breath. 

Suddenly a warm blanket covered his shoulders and with it Hannibal’s hands traveling up and down his shivering arms. He didn’t even realize he was cold. Will’s eyes traveled down the length of the fabric: thick strands of raw wool, skillfully knitted in an ornate pattern, most likely by hand. The type of work that would take endless hours to be completed. Clearly, someone had put a lot of thought and care into the piece. _And now he presented it to you. A bribe? No, an offering! He’s covering the wolf with the sheep’s skin. Helping you tailor your very own person suit, so you can go out into the world with humanity none the wiser of what lies within._

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“They don’t have those in here anymore. It cost more to produce than what they were worth. I read it in an article a couple of years ago.” 

“The sentiment still applies. You seemed deep in thought.”

“I was just admiring the view.”

Hannibal too was admiring the view.

They were not too far away from the city if Will happened to miss the perks of civilization — more or less 40 minutes by car if the weather was agreeable enough to drive in the first place. But he knew Will preferred the wilderness. _He’s a beast at heart. Just like you_. His first house was at least 20 minutes away from any sign of civilized living, and his house with her was even deeper into the woods — the Dragon told him so. He had watched and stalked Molly, looking for the perfect moment to strike. But she had been clever, apt to the wilderness in her unique way. He should have expected that much. His Will would not settle for someone without sharpness of mind — most likely what people referred to as being “street smart”. She probably knew her way around all the appliances in the house like she knew the way across his skin. They were man and wife, after all.

Back in his prison cell, he wondered if Will still liked to go on nature walks with the dogs amidst snow, sometimes even in the middle of the night. The snow up to his ankles, to the point that some of it would get inside his boots. _Does she go out with him too? What do they talk about?_ He had spent hours on end visiting Will on his memory palace, watching him go about his daily tasks; reading, grading papers, making food for the dogs, preparing his classes. All very banal and incredibly mundane, but somehow fascinating because it was _him_. Will was unlike any other creature — dead or alive —, and he had hoped that with time his _curiosity_ about him would cease.  
If anything, it had turned into something so foreign and alienating that Hannibal didn’t even have a name for it. No matter how many words he thought of, how many meanings he tried to conjure, his whole repertoire of languages wasn’t vast enough to gift this feeling with a proper denomination.

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Will’s curly bangs hid a boyish sort of mockery, a smugness he had certainly learned to hide in order to be respected by his older peers — Jack most likely. In the end, the curl of his lips gave him away. Hannibal simpered. 

“The province is vastly known for its incredible natural parks and reserves, and Oscar Cormier is a connoisseur for all the fresh air he can get. And for Will Graham, there's a large fishing community. You'll have enough like-minded people to share your passion with.”

“And for Hannibal Lecter? What's in it for him?” 

“I get to enjoy my freedom, and your company as well. That is if you choose to remain by side.” 

Will pointedly did not look at him. The sly expression gave away to a much colder facade, his eyes now focused on the endless white horizon. Hannibal knew that somehow he had struck a nerve. 

“It's not like I have anywhere else to go.”

_Ah, there it is_! — Hannibal thought. _The reason for concern doesn’t lie in our situation per se, but in the knowledge_ _that he lacks another option than to be in this situation in the first place._ If Will wanted options — or even the illusion he was in the position to make them —, Hannibal could give him that. 

“Surely Molly would be more than happy to take you back in her arms to resume your place at the table. You did not burn all your bridges, Will. Not yet”

Will released a pained breath, his chest moving up and down with a heaviness that spoke beyond his physical pain.

“There were never any bridges to burn in the first place. All I had were faint trails that took me deeper and deeper into the woods. When I think I found the path to freedom I realize I’ve only been walking in circles. Endlessly.” 

“Endings and beginnings are one and the same, Will: life, death, and rebirth. Conjoined; like we are. You said it yourself.” 

“An ouroboros. A venomous snake eating its tail, failing to realize that it's not immune to the poison.”

Will made a point to look at him then. _A challenge._ A child-like contest to see which one of them would break eye contact first. Who would succumb to the other’s will.

“The eternal cycle. The only difference in the status quo is that remains the same. Yet, it changes.” 

“And we are its prof. Not much living but somehow… _alive_.” Hannibal stepped closer, decided to raise the bet on their unspoken game. Will didn’t flinch and continued to stare at him. He didn’t know exactly what was it to win, but he was sure neither of them wanted to lose. “That day in Florence… I also said that I didn’t think we could survive the separation. And I meant that.”

“No separation is needed, dear Will. We will remain as we were. Conjoined.” 

“Except…I came to realize that, although I’m not sure we could survive the separation, I don’t think we’ll survive each other, either. You said we're both the snake, but tell me…what happens when there are two snakes and only one rat? When the territory is too small for two predators to share?” When Hannibal made no indication that he was going to answer — it was a rhetorical question, after all. They both knew that —, Will went for the final blow. “I'll tell you then, Doctor: either the snakes starve to death or kill each other. It’s only their nature.” 

“Or they can combine forces, joins territories, and together kill their prey and keep away their enemies. We’ve done it before, Will. We could do it again.” 

Hannibal tried to reach him with a gentle tug on his arms, but Will stirred in his place. _He’s uncomfortable with my touch._ Hannibal knew he didn’t like being reminded of the wickedness hiding underneath his skin. Will too had been crafting a persona to hide behind if someone ever attempted to get too close, to peel the top layer of his epidermis, look past the intertwining of flesh and blood and say: There. I can see you hiding. I can see who you truly are. Hannibal had done just that — more literally than he had hoped necessary, but certain acts could not be avoided once set in motion. Only maybe Will was not fully aware of his own mask, and simply thought this was the way to live in polite society. Always hiding. Maybe that was the reason he proffered to spend so much time isolated, alone. _Dissimulation is rather taxing on the body when you’re not aware that it's being done._ Hannibal always thought that it was a much simpler task to lie to others than it was to lie to yourself. 

“That was different. It was us or him. My — Molly's and Wally's lives depended on it.” 

“Is that what you tell yourself in order to pretend you and I aren't equivalent forces? That we don’t share the same instincts, Will?” 

“I gave up trying to convince myself of anything long ago, Dr. Lecter. There was a time I couldn’t even trust my own eyes to show me the truth, _you_ made sure of that. So surely I can’t trust said instincts either. No matter where they lean towards.” 

“So can’t the snakes coexist without having to bite one another? Is that so much against their nature, that keeping their fangs hidden would be the ultimate pretense of deception?” 

“I guess only time will tell.” 

Hannibal watched as Will unceremoniously turned around and walked up the stairs, heading back to the bedroom. It was clear they had lost much more than just their possessions in the fall. Most of all the sense of unity and togetherness he had fought so hard to make Will see, had not washed up back with them by the shore. Even though it had been rightfully earned and cemented onto the floor with the Dragon’s essence, it had been lost. Will bathed in blood, his person suit completely forgotten, his inhibitions left behind somewhere between Wolf Trap and Buffalo. _It really_ does look _black in the moonlight._ It had looked beautiful. The ultimate piece of art that not even him could have manufactured. 

Yet, their triumph was short-lived. Hannibal sat alone at the table — the warmth emanating from Will long gone. Nothing but the fire to keep him company now.

Will had not outright refused him, though, and explicitly declared he was going back to his old life. That was a good sign, and if Hannibal has ever allowed himself to be hopeful for anything, it would have to be this. Will wanted to be proven either right or wrong by time. He wanted to see the truth plainly — whichever it was —, without any semblance of coercion clouding his judgment. 

And Hannibal would give him that. For his Will, he had all the time in the world. 


	2. Unexpected Guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait between chapters, but I promise the following one will be up sooner. (It's already written, I just have to edit it now)
> 
> Also, this chapter may upset/anger some of you, but I have a bigger picture in mind, so please bear with me for this short painful while. <3

Time stretched out indefinitely. Hours, days and then weeks. The sleepy slice of land they were living on seemed to work on its unique time-zone — apart from everything and everyone that wasn’t them. 

Somehow they managed not to kill each other. _Yet_. They’re gasoline and a box full of matches. A set of sharp knives in the hands of a curious child — all the ingredients of impending doom were there — , but tragedy had not visited them. No Banshee standing outside their door ready to wail. Maybe just a Wendigo. 

They spent a lot of their time separate, and Will thought this is partly the reason why: _We can’t get into each other’s nerves if we barely spend time together_. Maybe they were doing it on purpose, or maybe they just happened to be two people who enjoyed solitude. Nonetheless, it had worked so far. 

Shortly after recovering from his wounds, Will remained in the room Hannibal had chosen for him on the bottom floor, and Hannibal had moved his things to a room on the far end of the top part of the house. Faraway from him. Will no longer needed to be constantly cared for or looked after, so he welcomed the change. It had been weird at first having Hannibal fussing over him all day long, listening to every little whimper that left his lips and making sure he had everything he needed. He was fed, bathed and clothed. _Like a goddamn child_. The man didn’t seem to care though. Every time Will would look at him through his feverish haze, his eyes were smiling. He would talk to Will a lot too, even though most of the time he was too weak to answer. 

More often than not they would go the whole day without seeing each other, only regrouping at night for dinner, and sometimes a few minutes or pointless conversation before bed. The house was big enough to allow such distance and the fact that Hannibal didn’t seem to make an effort to spend any extra time with him also helped. After some time of this new routine they found for each other, Will began to feel weird with the whole arrangement. It was lonely. He missed his dogs, the ability to come and go without wondering if he was being followed, and the sense of purpose his job provided. He missed the constant contact with Hannibal too. _What about Molly? Alana? Jack?_ After some soul-searching and extended deliberation Will noted that he didn’t miss them. And the conclusion had worried him. What did it say about him that he didn’t miss the woman he had been married to for three years, his step-son, and two of the few people he ever considered his friends? Will didn’t know the answer and wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to find out. 

Things were better that way. _Distance is good,_ he told himself every time he felt the ghost touch of Hannibal’s fingers on his bare skin. _Distance brings clarity and you need this now more than ever_. Will went fishing every week, and Hannibal took to hunting from time to time — he preferred a variety of cuts when it came to making meals. 

His lungs burned from the sheer force it took to breathe such a freezing air. Despite popular belief — and what his excess perspiration would lead himself to think — , Will was not apt for such low temperatures. His home in Wolf Trap had merely come to be as a process of elimination for the least amount of human interaction he would have on a daily basis. In that sense, Winnipeg wasn’t much different. They hadn’t seen another human around ever since they arrived over a month ago. But that’s probably for the best: fewer people, fewer chances for trouble. 

Ice fishing wasn’t the most exciting of activities, especially in such bad weather, but luckily the property they were in had a heated fishing shack to make the task a little more bearable. _Did he put it here?_ Hannibal showed no special interest in fishing, and of all the times he cooked actual animals for their meals, Will only remembered having fish on two occasions, and one of them he had brought the meat himself: some trouts he had caught at Piney Run Lake. All bigger than the average size for the winter season — Hannibal had been impressed. Most of the other times had been some exotic meat like escargot, sea urchin, or like that time they ate the ortolans. _Bones and all._

It would have been an enormous coincidence — Winnipeg aside — , for them to end up in a place that had all the means he needed for his favorite pastime. He knew better than to believe in coincidences or happenstances when it came to Hannibal. But that would have to mean that he had bought the property thinking of him, or in the very least had it altered to fit his needs. _But when?_ He spent 3 years in jail, all assets blocked, little to no communication with the outside world. _What about before?_ Hannibal was living with Bedelia in Italy, enjoying the fine arts and culture that the place offered. _And killing his way through Florence._ Could he already have these plans in the back of his mind? Would he be plotting their escape even before he had been captured in the first place? Was Will so predictable that Hannibal just knew he would go with him? _Or maybe it was all wishful thinking? Like a kid looking at the sky and making a wish to a shooting star. Or a man kneeling at an altar, praying to any gods that would listen to fulfill his wishes._

If that was the case, was he the answer to Hannibal's prayers, or divine punishment from all his wrongdoings? 

His thoughts were interrupted by a constant tugging on his fishing line. It was time to catch a hungry fish. 

He stayed in the shack until sunlight began to fade, turning the bright blue sky into a gentle orange canvas. When he returned with two decent-sized Walleyes — and after struggling to no avail with a Muskie — , he didn’t expect to find her sitting on the porch. But there she was, waiting for something, like the Cerberus to Hannibal's Hades. _If that’s the scenario, then you’re Persephone. Trapped in the underworld with a madman, only to then fall_ … never mind. Better to have drowned those thoughts on the icy water. 

Chiyoh was still staring at him, unmovable. If he squinted Will could almost pretend she was nothing more than a statue, misplaced by some weird occurrence and dropped in the middle of nowhere, Canada, instead of a museum where it belonged. The previous time he had seen her, he took a bullet to the shoulder. Before that, it was a Judah’s kiss. 

“Wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.” 

Chiyoh squeezed her trusty gun against her chest. The juxtaposition was almost comical. “Afraid I would get in the way?” 

“Mostly out of needed reservation.” He said, standing beside her on the porch. From where he was, Will could see small freckles on the bridge of her nose. He didn’t remember noticing them before, so he assumed she had stayed somewhere warm recently. He could also use some sun. “You _did_ try to kill me before.” 

“So did Hannibal. Yet, you remain by his side.” 

_Touché._

“It’s more than clear I lack a vital notion of self-preservation and a proper distinction of what to do once my safety is threatened.” She inspected him up and down, and Will could swear he almost saw the beginnings of a smile. “Where is he, by the way? I brought dinner.” 

“That’s very domestic of you.” 

Will just shrugged. “Again, no self-preservation.” 

“I think he’s in the study. I haven’t seen him yet.” 

“He doesn’t know you’re here?” Chiyoh didn’t dignify him with more than a subtle look for an answer. As ironic as it might look, silent seemed to be a valuable coin she learned to trade for information. He remembered reading in a physiology book, back in college, that a common technique for emotional manipulation was to remain silent amid a discussion and in most cases the other participant would feel an innate need to fill that void with any information they could think of, leading them to reveal more than they intend to or contradict themselves entirely in the case of a lie being told. He didn’t take her for a manipulative person in essence, so this was most likely a trade she assimilated after years of living with Hannibal. He spoke many languages fluently and emotional manipulation was just one of them. “So you’ve just been sitting here alone in the cold?” 

“I wanted to see you first.” Without offering much explanation, she got up and walked towards the woods. Before she was too far away from his hearing range, she added: “Tell him I’ve arrived.” 

Will made a quick stop in the kitchen to put the fish away in the fridge and wash his hands of the lingering smell. Not that it would matter for Hannibal’s unusually acute sense of smell. On a bad day, he could still smell Will several feet away. _Predators are good like that_. As he went up the stairs he took a peek into one of the main windows looking for any trace of Chiyoh, but she was nowhere to be found. She definitely got Hannibal’s mysterious antics as well. 

He gently knocked on the bedroom door, and even before he heard the man’s voice telling him to come in, Will was already halfway into opening the door. 

“Chiyoh is here.” Hannibal looked up from his book — ‘The Well of Loneliness’ the title said — , but then he must have seen something on Will because he opted for closing the book altogether and putting it aside on the nightstand. “She asked me to let you know.” 

“So soon? I imagined it would require more time to complet all the preparations.” 

Will didn’t know what the term preparation entailed when it came to whatever she did for Hannibal, but he couldn’t find it in him to care about it at that moment. He had other things in mind. Ever since they arrived in Winnipeg, the man opted for a more casual style — or whatever it could be called casual in Hannibal’s eyes. His signature tree piece suits gave place to monochromatic cashmere sweaters with pants that were always a perfect match in terms of the color pallet. Will thought the exchange would make him appear less pristine, certainly less pompous, but as he looked at Hannibal displayed onto the bed like an exotic feline waiting for its owner to pamper him, he knew that it wasn’t his clothes that made him look so _dignified_. He simply was. _Hell, he looked good even in his prison uniform._

“Is everything all right, Will? You seem distracted.” 

“I’m fine.” He cleared his throat, trying to hide the sudden color on his cheeks from Hannibal’s analytical stare. If he noticed maybe Will could get away by blaming the cold. It was not uncommon for fishermen to get frostbite. But a simple change of subject would probably work just fine. “Is it any good? The book?” 

“Very much. You should read it sometime.” 

“What is it about?” 

“It’s a love story.” Will raised his eyebrows in surprise. “And a beautiful one.” 

“And you are nothing if not a connoisseur of beauty.” 

“I am attracted to beauty, Will. And beauty comes in all forms. Some are bloodier than others, but beautiful nonetheless.” 

Hannibal sized him up and down, drinking in the sight that was Will Graham. The recovery time was good to him, he had already gained most of the weight he lost while injured and his frequent runs in the woods were doing wonders for his mood. He seemed to be much more content with their situation. Certainly, more than he was a month ago. Hannibal wondered if time, too, would dissipate the remaining uncertainty Will still showed around him. He wondered, most of all, if the man would ever accept their connection for what it truly was: A bond so strong, not even divine intervention — and a free fall deep into the ocean — , could break. They had tasted each other’s blood in the salty water, washed each other’s sins and savored the thrill of the hunt — together. Nothing would stand in their way. 

“Is everything all right, Hannibal? You seem distracted.” 

Will teased him, echoing his previous statement. The man chuckled in return. 

“Is she waiting for me downstairs?” 

“No. She told me to let you know she arrived and then went into the woods.” 

“Probably making sure the surroundings are safe and don’t pose any threat to our lives.” 

“Maybe.” 

Hannibal got up and walked towards Will. When he was just inches away from the other man he inhaled deeply and gave Will a pleased smile when he didn’t flinch with the proximity or the unusual act of being smelled. Fish aside, Hannibal very much enjoyed Will’s scent. It was woody and somewhat citric, with just the right hint of spice. It got even better after any traces of his cheap aftershave were long gone from his skin. 

“What did you catch?” 

“Two Walleyes. Struggled with a Muskie for far too long before the line snapped.” 

“They are known for being very aggressive.” 

“That they are. Should I cut the fish, or you prefer to do it? Assuming you don’t already have other plans for dinner.” 

“Are you offering to cook us dinner, Will?” 

“I’m afraid my ability only goes so far as preparing the fish. I could help, though. If you needed me to.” _If you wanted me to_. 

“I would like that very much.” 

They headed towards the kitchen: Will leading the way and Hannibal shortly behind him. 

Since Chiyoh was there, they needed to prepare both fish to satisfy the three of them. They weren’t all that big, and he was running low on potatoes for the side dish too. Maybe he could maximize the quantity by making a caramelized onion and pumpkin mash and roasting the potatoes. _Yes, that will do._ Hannibal opened the fridge and removed the fish, handed them to Will who began by removing all the scales with the back of the knife until all that remained was the slippery skin underneath. He made a precise incision across their stomachs and stuck his hand inside pulling from it the guts and all other commonly removed parts. 

“Would you save the bladder and the liver, please? I intend to make maw soup and a liver pate soon.” 

Will nodded and removed the required cuts. Hannibal didn’t think he had ever enjoyed such delicacies before, and his chest buzzed with the anticipation of seeing Will’s face savoring this new culinary experience. Even if he was unsure about the ingredients or his ability to properly enjoy them, Hannibal found that Will rarely rejected food. Maybe it was a byproduct of growing up poor and not having the luxury to choose what he wanted to eat, but he hoped to change that. He would often ask for Will’s input on their meals and then rejoice when he found them especially tasty. The psychiatrist would never forget the first time he’d fed Will — a simple scrambled eggs with sausage and diced heirloom tomatoes — , and how grateful he had seemed by the gesture. He ate his meal with ravenous hunger, at times barely stopping to engage in their conversation. _I think uncle Jack sees you as a fragile teacup. The finest China, used only for special guests._ And then he had laughed. A sudden burst of humor escaping his mouth thought half-eaten pieces of food. He told Hannibal upon first meeting him that he dreaded eye contact, only them to meet his eyes during the entirety of breakfast. He surprised him even further: _How do you see me?_ His eyes studied the man in front of him intently, searching for every twitch of an eyebrow, every curl of lip that would indicate his answer. Even after all this time, Will never failed to surprise him. 

“I went into the city.” 

“I thought you’d resume your wanderings to the woods.” 

“No. I wanted to make sure.” 

“That we weren’t being chased?” Will nodded, not removing his eyes from the cut of meat. “And what did you find?” 

“I looked through some papers and magazines around the city but didn’t find any mention of the crimes or the investigation. It’s safe to assume that at least locally no one is digging through anything. Or at least they’re not broadcasting it.” 

“That’s good news them.” 

“The same can’t be said about the news back in the US. After the Dragon’s fallout, and the resolution of the Reaper’s case Jack got his old job back. He gave an interview two weeks ago stating that the investigation was closed and that we were presumed dead. Which means—” 

“Jack presumes we survived.” 

“Exactly. He just doesn’t want anyone else looking for us.” 

“Which begs the question: who is he protecting, you or the little that remains of his reputation?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe he just wants you all to himself.” 

The corner of Hannibal’s lips curled into a smile. “Does Jack crave some old testimony justice?” 

“He has nothing else to cling to. Bella is dead, he probably lost all leeway with the FBI and is basically deemed a pariah now.” Will shrugged. Jack probably craved a lot of things, none of them in their best interest. “All that there’s left is a trail of dried blood and an obsession. Ahab chasing the white whale.” 

“Then you must do like Ismael and observe the events as they unfold.” 

“With no interference?” 

Will met his eyes, held the gaze for longer than it was necessary for an ordinary everyday conversation. Except all of their exchanges were always loaded with hidden meaning. Layers upon layers of subtext concealed within the lines. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure what they’re really talking about until it was too late and he had fallen once again into the rabbit hole. 

“Only if you wish Ahab to live.” 

Will chuckled. The meaning was not that hidden after all. 

“Are you fearful of the influence you presume Jack has over me?” _Jealous, perhaps?_ “Are you trying once again to alienate me from him, Dr. Lecter?” 

“I only don’t wish to be forced into taking actions that I know will prove detrimental to the small slice of understanding and companionship we saved for ourselves. If you wish to have Jack back in your life, it’s your right to do so, but unless you choose to change some variables…” _Unless you decide to leave me and go back to your old life._ “… I’m afraid the results will be disastrous.” 

_Fair enough. He has a point. No need to make an already difficult situation impossible_. 

“Other than that the topic doesn’t have much traction in the media. A few channels covered it at first, like an unfolding of the Tooth Fairy case, but the news cycle over there moves fast. Politics and all that. It would probably die down completely if it wasn’t for Freddie’s salacious articles. She’s spewing all sorts of theories to anyone who will listen. Or read.” 

Hannibal seemed amused at the mention of Freddie Lounds. _She called you ‘murder husbands’. Not so stupid after all._ The woman had always been incredibly rude, but only in a way that a child was when trying to provoke an adult she wanted to give her attention. Never anything of real substance but flies on top of a decomposing body. 

“Have any of them been correct?” 

“The one where we killed the Dragon together and…” _Ran off into the sunset_ had been the term she used in the article. _‘Will Graham and Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a.k.a The Murder Husbands, managed the impossible, even for Houdini himself, and ran off into the sunset leaving their friends, families and the authorities completely in the dark as to their whereabouts.’_ The truth was a little sorer than that — definitely bloodier — but not much different. “… ran away.” 

“Never to be seen again?” 

_‘But fear not, dead readers, as this surely won’t be the last time we hear about our favorite murderous duo. The Reaper and his beloved won’t stay dormant for long. Stay alert, look for clues. They might be hiding right under your noses. Jack Crawford knows that better than anyone._ ’ 

“No. She thinks we will resume the killings when things calm down. Urged her readers to look for any weird string of murders anywhere around the globe.” 

_How terribly rude of you, Miss Lounds._

“She is a nuisance at best, Will. No credible journalist source would take her _publication_ into account. I wouldn’t worry much about what she says.” 

“The things she says are not what concerns me.” _I’m just worried she might be right._ He worried that, provided enough time, he would give into Hannibal’s design. One kill on duty to protect someone else was to be expected — happened every day to a lot of cops and agents. Another in self-defense wouldn’t shock most people. Everyone was expected to fight for their lives, were they not? A third meticulously orchestrated kill to put down a serial killer could be frowned upon, but it was hardly of any real concern to anyone. _There was no other way to stop him. He would kill Molly, Wally and God knows how many others._ But four kills? That was a pattern. Any more than that, it was a hobby. “I just don’t want to have to be looking over my shoulder all the time.” 

“Speaking of looking over one’s shoulder… any news of our dear Alana Bloom? Hopefully still happily married to Margot.” 

“They are renovating and reforming the whole company to get rid of Mason’s cruel antics in producing the meat. Apparently, they’re also planning to start a whole line of vegan meats.” 

“Unsurprising. She always lacked the taste for carnage. Alana had never been a vegetarian, but I did notice that if she was eating alone meat was rarely her protein of choice.” Will nodded, as Hannibal watched him carefully remove the fish bones from the fragile meat without causing any damage to its aesthetic appeal. He presented it to Hannibal as if he was an apprentice looking for the approval of the Chef. “And what was the _official_ fate of the Dragon?” 

“Killed in a confrontation with law enforcement.” 

“So no mention of _our_ encounter with him?” 

“None. Jack named you as the Ripper, though. And I one of your victims.” 

The last statement was said in a whisper-like voice. Practically inaudible if both men weren’t so close to one another. 

“Are you?” Will lifted his eyes at him. The blue of his irises was so clear it reminded Hannibal of when they washed up at the shore. The blood practically cleaned away from their clothes, and their wounds partially cauterized by the salt. _A small present from the sea._ Even with a bullet wound, Will had been in worse condition. His blood-loss was apparent on his cold skin — also blue in tone. He went back to busying himself with the fish, letting Hannibal know he didn’t intend to answer his question. _It would hardly be the first time._ He thought Will liked to keep him guessing at times. That or he simply didn’t care for questions with obvious answers. “So Jack is giving you a way out.” 

“Or setting us — me up for a trap.” 

“Yes, both are equally likely.” 

Back from her rounds, Chiyoh found them in the kitchen. At first glance, seeing them side by side, uninterested by all that wasn’t each other, she felt like she’s watching one of those documentaries about animals who formed an unlikely friendship. Dogs befriending cats and snakes befriending birds. But she knew better than to assume they were at a disadvantage with one another. Hannibal hid his claws underneath a perfectly tailored coat of proper behavior and indignant righteousness. Will wasn’t as polished around the edges, but he too hid a beast within. Maybe even from himself. 

When Hannibal looked up, he saw Chiyoh staring at them from where she was standing near the door frame. 

“Fancy seeing you so soon, Chiyoh.” 

“Hello, Hannibal.” 

“I hope you decided to stay with us for dinner. We are making sired walleye with a caramelized pumpkin mash and roasted red thumb potatoes.” 

Will rolled his eyes. Hannibal never lost an opportunity of making humorists remarks about cannibalism. He looked outside through the kitchen window: the beginnings of a blizzard falling upon them. _It’s not like she has another choice._ Chiyoh nodded and disappears once again, this time somewhere inside the house. 

“She’s not much of a talker is she?” 

“There’s a lot of virtue in silence, Will.” 

“Is this your way of saying you wish me to speak less?” Will asked, but his playful tone betrayed the lack of venom in his words. Merely just a tease. “You’ll hurt my feelings this way, Dr. Lecter.” 

“Never. Your voice is my favorite sound in the entire world.” 

Something crossed over Will’s eyes — Hannibal thought it was a feeling that lied between fear and desire — , and he dropped the knife, squeezing his hands until the knuckles turned white. They had been living on a minefield of each other’s resentment, treacherous to navigate without a map but they found a common path to cross with no casualties. When it came to Hannibal’s _feelings_ for him, Will was very much like a spooked cat. One needed to tread carefully around his emotions and avoid loud declarations as to maintain the delicate simmer that was their relationship. Except now Hannibal just stepped on a bomb, and even the slightest of movements might set up a chain explosion. 

“Will—” 

“I’ll go take a shower before dinner.” 

With that, he left and made his way into the bathroom. His cheeks burned bright red, and it was not the hot water making the tint come to the surface. Well, not only the hot water. He couldn’t forget what Hannibal just said to him. A statement so loaded with meaning and — dare he say vulnerability?—, one could almost believe it to be the truth. Almost being the imperative term. _Hannibal is a psychopath. He didn’t love Abigail, and he doesn’t love you. No matter how much you want to believe it._

He had gained his trust, got inside his head, manipulated him, got him arrested, discredited, seen as a murderous lunatic, alienated him from his friends, gutted him and took a child from him. Twice. He had done so much damage, burn so many bridges, that Will’s train of thought was not steady enough to catalog everything without feeling like his brain lacked the proper oxygenation to complete the task. 

His palms traveled down his torso and landed on the smile Hannibal gifted him shortly before taking Abigail from him. From them. Although the smile was the only physical scar directly done by Hannibal, his body harvested many others that might not have been done by his hands, but that still had them stained with Will’s blood. He had been the man’s sacrificial lamb after all. And Hannibal had many errand boys to do the sacrificing. His hands threatened to travel lower, his fingertips almost reaching the throbbing piece of skin… but he stopped himself. Will needed to be protected from the things he wanted. Desperately. In the past, he thought Molly’s nurturing presence would serve as a shield from his dark desires, but that too had been a deception. But one of his own creation. Hannibal had seen right through his facade of a respectable family man and valuable member of society and set the disguise on fire. Let him burn to ashes and patiently waited for the inevitable Phoenix to rise from within. 

Still, he could not trick himself into thinking that Hannibal harbored any feelings towards him other than morbid curiosity over his actions and belittled amusement caused by his occasional lack of politeness. 

The monster wore a compelling mask of emotion, but underneath it, he was still a monster. Not capable of loving someone any more than a butcher could love a cow he was about to slaughter. 

When he got out of the bathroom, from all the things he could expect to find in his room the most absurd of them all was Chiyoh sitting on his bed. Wearing but a very thin robe. 

“I’m sorry, were you here when I got it, I didn’t—” 

Will tightened the towel on his waist, trying to hide his naked torso from her persistent gaze. His clothes were inside the closet, all the way across the room. Too far away for comfort. 

“No, I just got in.” 

“Were you hoping to take a warm shower? I didn’t take long so I’m almost certain that there’s still warm water left.” 

“No, I already showered.” 

Will nodded absentmindedly, trying to organize his train of thought. That was odd, Chiyoh was not the most talkative person out there, but Will didn’t know her to be prone to digressions either. She was usually very direct — painfully so at times. But it seemed that she wanted some information from him, and whatever it was he wasn’t sure if he could give it to her. It seemed like both his companions were overly fond of toying with him. And he had very little patience left for that. 

“Ok, so what’s with the cloak and dagger?” Chiyoh squinted. Definitely not the best reference then. Best to be direct. “Why are you acting like this?” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you just found out little kids get presents from Christmas and I’m Santa.” 

“I’m not a Cristian, Will. I care very little about those traditions.” 

“Chiyoh—” 

“Do you find me attractive, Will?” 

Will froze, surprise clear from his raised eyebrows to his mouth agape. What the hell is going on? 

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” 

“I disagree.” 

Chiyoh approached him slowly like a hunter would a prospect prey they wished to shoot. She ran her fingertips through his collarbone, and it immediately reminded Will of the time they were looking for Hannibal. _I’m not searching for Hannibal. I know exactly where he is._ Will had been looking, all the while Chiyoh just wanted him out of her way. She told him that violence was the only mean of influence he understood. Now, he knows that she too understands violence just fine. 

“There are no moving trains for you to throw me off of anymore.” 

“That’s not what I’m trying to do, Will.” 

“What are you trying to do then?” 

“Do you find me attractive?”, she insisted. 

“Yes, I do find you attractive.” 

Chiyoh smiled, her hands resting on top of the knot that kept her robe in place. 

“That’s the answer I was looking for.” 


	3. Kintsugi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Will’s encounter with Chiyoh will prove to be more complex — and enlightening — than he ever thought possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for such a huge delay! Like most people right now, I'm facing a difficult job - or lack there of - situation, and I couldn't focus of anything else for a while. Things are still messy and very uncertain, but I figured; writing gives me joy, might as well do it.
> 
> Sadly, I can't promise when the next chapter will be up, but just know that I won't abandon this story.

Shortly after dinner, Hannibal retreated to his bedroom to take advantage of the free time he had since Will washed the dishes. _It’s the least I can do after you made the food_ , he had said, but Hannibal hadn’t made the meal alone. Although Will wasn’t so versed in the kitchen, he had prepared the fish to perfection. He seemed extra tense at dinner, stealing glances at Chiyoh every now and then when he thought Hannibal wasn’t paying attention. The guilt and confusion were clear on his face, but Hannibal decided not to comment on it. There was a time and a place for delicate conversations and dinner was definitely not the adequate opportunity for it. From all the daily meals, he considered dinner to be the most sacred of them. Modern life rarely allowed people — families —, to stay together trough the course of the day, with work, school, and several other activities keeping them apart, but the end of the day usually marked their reunion. And dinner was the perfect way to celebrate that.

Hannibal had cooked dinner for friends, acquaintances, colleagues and even enemies many times. But making dinner for family was a rare occasion. As a child he wasn’t allowed in the kitchen, and after Misha food had seemed like a punishment to him for the longest time. It took years for him to have a normal relationship with food, and even longer to make it into a craft worth perfecting.

He never even got the chance to cook dinner for Will and Abigail without having unwanted third parties also attending the table. Now he could feed Will regularly, but the meals lacked the same warmth and community as before. He had let his pride speak louder and extinguish Abigail’s place in their lives — and rather violently to make matters worse. Despite what most people thought of him, he was capable of remorse and regret. Once upon a time he thought himself incapable of any feelings of that nature, but everything changed when Will stumbled into his life — all nervous ticks and unkempt hair. He should have found him unappealing and unattractive: Will had many of the characteristics he despised. He had eaten others for much less, but his Will was different. _Special_. Behind that awkward facade he hid an awareness and intellect unparalleled to anything the psychiatrist had ever seen before. It enticed and allured him. If God truly existed, Hannibal was certain that he had made Will for him and _only_ him. Alana, Jack, Molly or Beverly, no one could fully understand and appreciate the masterpiece that was Will Graham. He had intended to do just that.

Except… he burned everything to ashes because of his stupid pride. Hannibal knew it had been a mistake the moment he saw Will’s desperate eyes, so much fear and anguish and all because of him. With two merciless strokes he had destroyed the picture he took a lifetime to paint. His aunt Murasaki had seen the seed of pride in him from the very beginning and had warned him to not let it make roots within. _Pride is the enemy of man, Hannibal. Do not let its seeds see sunlight, because once it makes roots inside of you, nothing can dry them out._ He knew full well that he couldn’t cut the roots that already existed in him, but he could try not to let new ones grow.

Somehow, despite what everyone thought about him — and what he deserved — Will was still by his side. _But for how long?_

He picked up the book he was reading earlier in the day, but even before he could start the first sentence, Chiyoh walked in.

“The next house is ready for you.”

“I imagined it would be.” Chiyoh had been exceptional from the start. At first she could only communicate with Lady Murasaki, but she absorbed both Lithuanian and later some English not long after her arrival from Japan, becoming some sort of companion to Hannibal. Even as a child she had a quiet wisdom — the type one only acquires by listening a lot and talking very little. She knew how to navigate the intricate world of prejudice disguised as social selectiveness, and how to make her presence almost invisible to gather information with very little effort. “You came earlier than expected, Chiyoh. May I ask what was the reason for such a quick turnaround?”

“I want to go back to Japan.” She answered, not taking her eyes from the tree line trough the window. Hannibal studied her face briefly, thought she might look apprehensive. “I won’t go now, of course. But I figured, the sooner you both get settled permanently, then I can go back.”

Hannibal nodded. She had all the right to want to live her own life aside from being his vigilant guardian.

“How long has it been?”

“25 years.”

“That’s awfully long for one to be stranded from home.”

“You have been away for longer than that.”

“Indeed.” It was Chiyoh´s time to study him now, her brown eyes set somewhere around his temple, probably cataloging the new scars she hadn’t seen before. “But I’m hoping to remedy that.”

“By creating a home with him?”

He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. Chiyoh´s question sounded more like an accusation. _But what am I being accused of?_ He could tell she was uncertain about the true nature of his intentions regarding Will. And she wasn’t the only one. Will himself probably didn’t know if he could trust Hannibal’s feelings for him to be greater than his need to assert his power, but again he was hoping to remedy that. He intended to show Will just how far he would go to prove his love.

“If things go according to my plans, yes.”

“And if they don’t?”

Hannibal offered her a half smile and absentmindedly flipped through his unfinished book. A clear sign that he didn’t intend on giving her a full answer. She could probably already assume the fallout of his plans crumbling to his feet. _The best case scenario: Will going back to the US, Hannibal staying alone somewhere around the world to resume his life as a serial killer. The worst case: a bloodbath of unimaginable proportion, neither of them getting out alive from it._

“Tell me… what is your opinion of Will now?”

“My opinion is that he won’t try to kill you anymore. But this is as far as my perception goes. You two are in a league where you’re the only players, and I don’t understand the game.”

Hannibal chuckled. He was very fond of Chiyoh’s brand of bluntness — never crossing the line of rudeness, but not necessarily polite either.

“You have always been very perceptive, Chiyoh. There’s a reason my aunt Murasaki took you home with her. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Some things are not a matter of perception, Hannibal. Either you know them or you don’t, and you two know each other like no one else can. If that’s a good thing or a bad one, is another information I don’t posses.”

He smiled, showing a portion of his canines, “Clever girl.”

“I’ll let you know when The Heaven is ready.”

She left him to his own devices and disappeared into the hallway. Chiyoh didn’t want to linger any more than it was necessary, but before braving into the cold night she went looking for Will. Unsurprisingly, he was in the bedroom, staring at his tossed bed like it was a crime scene. _Maybe for him it was._

Will tensed, his shoulders coming up to meet the edge of his jaw. He didn’t acknowledge her directly, but Chiyoh knew he already noticed her presence. She leaned against the door frame. No need to invade his space once again.

“Should I ask what prompted you to sleep with me?”

“I wanted to know how it felt.”

“Sex?” She nodded. Will looked at her this time. Searched for any hidden meanings behind her words, but didn’t find any. Either she was really good at concealing her true intentions and Will got increasingly worse at detecting such deceptions, or she was simply telling the truth. No greater meaning behind it other than the need of physical release. “With me?”

Chiyoh shook her head: _Sorry to disappoint you._

“No, in general.”

“And what was your conclusion?”

“I don’t think I’ll be doing it again.”

He had to laugh at that. That was how the Chiyoh he knew behaved. Straight as an arrow and just as quick. _Just as deadly, too._ Will didn’t know what was it that had cemented this innate need she had to guard Hannibal’s life — _was he a father figure to her? A brother?_ —, but whatever that was, it was clearly coming to an end. Their bodies were already fully healed, and the police trail on them seemed to get colder by the day. He doubted that anyone other than Jack was keen on finding them.

Will would miss her quiet digs at him once she was gone for good.

“I’ll try really hard not to take this as an offense to my performance.” She smiled too. They appeared to have reached some understanding after so much distrust and the constant assaults to his physical integrity. Maybe the sex helped to fix that, or maybe she just needed to see him naked of all his protections to decide whatever it was she decided about him. Nonetheless, she seemed to have reached a relatively positive conclusion. Otherwise she would not have engaged with him in such a way. “Wait… you never shared Hannibal’s bed?”

“You’ve mistaken our relationship with yours, Will. I’m the surrogate sister. _You’re_ the bride.”

To his own surprise, Will didn’t flinch at the words — the insinuation behind them. It was not the first time that someone jumped to such assumptions about his relationship with Hannibal, and wouldn’t be the last. Especially if he indented to remain by the man’s side. _We’ve both been his bride_ , Bedelia had told him in one of their sessions. Later she had asked if his wife knew how deep his relationship with Hannibal went, how _intimate_ it was. Molly could be inattentive with daily matters — she forgot where her keys were as soon as she put them down —, but she was no fool. Shortly after their relationship got serious, and Will decided it was best she knew everything that was publicly known about his involvement with Hannibal, she had asked him point black: _Were you in love with him, Will? Are you still?_ It had been easy to deny it. At the time he even managed to convince himself he harbored only hatred and distrust towards Hannibal — he did tried to harm Will on numerous occasions — but that was no longer the case. Now he knew what he didn’t then, that whatever negative feelings he had cultivated towards the man, were definitely not the only ones that had bloomed. Inadvertently — and even against his better judgment and willingness to admit — , his curiosity over Hannibal’s intellect and overall demeanor had turned into an unusual interest and that later had morphed into attraction. Will had never even experienced any feelings towards men that weren’t friendship, respect or vague annoyance, but Hannibal had changed that. Again, the man had twisted his insides into a shape he didn’t recognize, but now had to live with it.

Will had caught himself watching the preciseness of his hands as he cooked or washed the dishes, his impressive build when he walked around the house, silent and elegant, and even the raised veins on the crook of his neck when he turned around. _You are attracted to Hannibal Lecter_; he said to himself one day while showering — while _thinking_ of him. _Admitting you have a problem is the first step in overcoming it._ But lately he was beginning to think this attraction was morphing into something else. Something far more rooted and harder to get rid of it.

_‘Love is like garden weed, son. It grows when you least expect it and it spreads faster than a common cold in late December.’_

It was a phrase that his father used to say when he had had one too many beers on his deceased mother’s birthday. Mr. Graham was as silent as a garden gnome on his best days, but nothing loosened up his tongue like a good shot of gin, followed by a second and then a third. He didn’t fully understand the statement back then — being too young to ever have experienced anything that could resemble love, let alone losing a spouse — , but he did now. He had loved and being rejected, was loved but didn’t return the feeling, thought he could have loved if given the opportunity, and finally loved someone who had loved him back. Molly had been a light in his life when he couldn’t see past the darkness. She had loved him wholeheartedly and maternally — she was a caregiver by nature — , but even a love as sincere as hers couldn’t keep the shadows at bay.

Three years he made a life from himself away from Hannibal and all it took was reading one sentence — not even that — , two words and the dam he had carefully crafted around his heart could no longer contain the flooding of feelings bursting from within.

_Dear, Will…_

After that, as they say, the rest is history.

“I’ve never shared his bed either.”

“Not yet.”

He let out a pained sigh, and then vaguely gestured towards the messy bed.

“Why me?”

“Because I trust you.”

Will barked out a laugh, loud and crass — the type that would annoy Hannibal if it had come from anyone other than himself. Chiyoh had suddenly turned into a comedian.

“Bold words for someone who threw me off a moving train and then shot me.”

“I didn’t trust you then. I do now.”

He stopped. That intrigued him.

“What changed?”

“You did. You’re no longer a threat to his life.”

“You have more faith in me than I do.”

“It’s not a matter of faith, Will. I’m judging by what’s in front of me.”

“Dare I ask what that is?”

“You can ask, but you may not like the answer.” Will shrugged, and Chiyoh took that as an indication that he cared very little if he would like the answer or not. She knew the man enough to understand that _knowing_ was of great importance to him. Even if it cost his happiness and peace of mind. _When you know you can do something about it_. “I see a man that has already chosen his path but somehow still thinks he’s at a crossroad.”

“The path of becoming a murderer.”

He concluded, matter-of-factly. More to himself than to her. Will had had some time between first knowing Hannibal and putting him in jail to understand what the man had wanted for him — for them. _Someone to share his life with. A partner in crime. Literally_. Getting used to it, though, was another thing entirely. Justified murders were easy to understand, and maybe even to accept. But there was nothing just about most of the things Hannibal had done. Probably would continue to do. All a matter of time and opportunity.

Chiyoh shook her head, seeming tired, like a mom trying to put her toddler to rest. _You’re missing the point, Will. Again._

“You’ve always been one. Since the beginning. You have a different becoming now.”

“Once again in a chrysalis. But what will hatch from it this time?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Chiyoh leaned down and let her lips touch his, a barely there touch akin to a kiss children would share when left unsupervised for too long, just because they thought they could get away with it. “Goodbye, Will. Take care of him for me.” _Take care of yourself too._

Later, when Chiyoh was long gone and the cold wind made sure to erase her tracks on the snow, Hannibal found him sitting in front of the fireplace, opposite to his empty armchair. _Just like old times. How very sentimental of you, my dear._ By his side, on the coffee table, an empty glass and a bottle of his best Port Wine — a decade old barrel-aged Tawny with a decadent and sweet aftertaste — very easy on the palate but meant to be enjoyed in moderation due to his unusually high alcohol content. Not to mention the fact that said wine was better savored on a specific glass, much smaller than the one intended for full-body reds Will had chosen. A glass alone would be enough to leave a man of his build in a more than agreeable mood, and by the looks of it Will had at least three. 

“Wine in front of the fireplace? Are you feeling nostalgic, Will?”

He chuckled.

“Only when I’m awake.”

Hannibal sat across from him, and Will handed him the empty glass and the bottle. As per usual, the man poured his wine to perfection — never too much or too little—, always the proper amount from each specific wine as it was meant to be enjoyed. Once Hannibal had briefly explained to him about the proper quantities of each wine should be drank and in which glasses they should be poured, but the information quickly evaded him. Will found he had very little patience for the particularities of wine tasting. He had just grabbed the first wineglass in front of him and poured the amount he deemed necessary to drown his worries. And he had so many. Having slept with Chiyoh just aggravated the already devastating turmoil inside his head and worst: left him feeling like he had somehow _cheated_ on Hannibal. He wondered if she had felt the same, but it was a ridiculous thought to have, let alone to voice it. He would deal with this newer more confusing feeling the way he knew best: by denying its existence until it went away or until he felt like the knowledge was robbing the air from his lungs and he was forced to confront it. Whichever came first.

Meanwhile, Hannibal’s eyes were still locked on him as he swirled his wine inside the glass. _One must agitate the wine before savoring, Will. That way the oxygen will start to break down the beverage releasing all the aromatic notes._ That much he remembered. He also liked to observe Hannibal’s firm yet gentle grip onto the glass, and that was probably why he remembered the information.

“Are you hoping to resume our therapy sessions, Dr. Lecter?”

Hannibal gave him a puzzled look.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Everyday around 7PM you find a way to make your presence known to me.” Sometimes he would give Will a book recommendation he hadn’t request it, or ask if he wished to drink a glass of wine before bed to “invite sleep”. Other times he would just hover around Will until he engaged in conversation. “And I can only assume is because you grew accustomed to our talks.”

“I too am a creature of habit, Will. Not much different from you.”

“Except you habits include an amount of bloodshed that’s difficult to get used to.”

It seemed to Hannibal that Will was the one who wished to resume their sessions. He was even sitting in the same way they did back in his office, sharing a glass of wine like many times before. In one particular conversation Will had shared a few anecdotes about his early teaching days in specific the time when he had gotten so nervous for his first lecture that he had misspelled his own name on the board. And for a full week all his students had called him Will Graam instead of Graham.

He watched Hannibal as the man enjoyed his wine like he didn’t have a care in the world. His top lip was stained deep burgundy, making it seem like he had been drinking blood instead of wine. Will envied his ability not to care about the matters of the heart. It would definitely make his life much easier to go about his day without wondering what Hannibal was doing and if he thought about him as anything other than an amusing pastime. Will would confess — even if only to himself — , to obsessing about why Hannibal did the things he did. And most of all, he obsessed about the reasons behind Hannibal’s own obsession with him.

They truly were a match made in heaven. Or most likely in hell.

“Why here?”

“Canada?”

“Winnipeg to be more precise.”

“It seemed like a fitting choice. Small enough not to be considered by others like a desirable hiding place, but not too small where a new addition to the town would be immediately noticed.” He looked at Will, waiting for him to comment further, but the man seemed deep in thought. _What goes on inside this head of yours, dear Will? I would very much like to know._ “Does the place displeases you?”

Will shook his head, heavy from the alcohol. _Far from it._

“Have I ever… mentioned this place to you before?”

Hannibal thought back to all of their previous interactions but wasn’t able to find any memory of such information ever being shared with him. And in all the years they had known each other, he never forgot a single thing that Will had said to him.

“I don’t think so. I would remember otherwise. You’ve been here before, Will?”

Will absentmindedly rested his lips on the edge of the glass, his delicate fingers gripping the handle with much force than it was necessary, desperately trying to hold on to something that would help him not give in to Hannibal’s inquires. Even before he had opted for unsavory tactics to get information out of Will, just the sound of his voice alone already had an unusual effect on his inhibitions. Will found that it was difficult for him to keep things from Hannibal. And most of the times he didn’t want to.

“When I was a kid, I saw a postcard of this place, and the lady from the store said that it was Christmas all year round in here. A real life winter wonderland, she said.”

“And that made you want to visit?”

“It’s stupid.”

“I doubt it. Nothing that comes out of your mouth could ever be stupid.”

Will found himself blushing, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. He tried covering the warm skin of his cheeks with his hands, and Hannibal smirked at him, clearly please with the reaction he got. 

“Don’t” Hannibal said, gently touching Will’s hand and removing it from his face. He let his fingertips linger over Will’s wrist, where he could feel the quickening of his heartbeat. “It suits you.”

“Stop that.”

Will tried to sound stern and rigid, but his parted lips and blown out pupils insisted on telling a different story. Hannibal complied either way, with a forgiving smile.

“Tell me about Winnipeg.”

He shook his head, trying to erase the whimsical image forming in his mind: him as a child, making a snowman somewhere in Canada. His mother watching him from the porch, holding a cup of hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows on top, waiting for him. “At that point I haven’t had seen snow yet, and I just thought… it was so different from any place I had ever been. Nothing but white hills for miles on end. It seemed magical. Even after I grew up and was living on Wolf Trap, with snow up to my ankles on a daily basis, some part of me still thought I would find _something_ in here.”

Hannibal leaned forward, razor-sharp eyes focused on Will’s wondering gaze, and the man responded by leaning back on the chair, trying to create some sobering distance between them.

“A home perhaps?”

_The cat’s out of the bag, Will. No need in lying to yourself and to him anymore._

“ _Yes._ A place where I could go fishing with Abigail and see her having fun with mundane tasks like getting ready for a party or having a movie marathon with friends.” She would be in her room, music so loud they could hear it through the door, jumping up and down with the rhythm of the song. She looked like the type of girl that would enjoy feel good pop songs when she was feeling energetic and moody grunge tunes when she wanted to brood. Either way Will would lean against the door frame and just watch her being herself, with a smile on his face. _That’s my girl._ “You know… not everyone enjoys fishing, I certainly didn’t when I was a kid, but she probably would. Even if it was mostly because she knew I liked it. She seemed like a kid who liked to spend time with her parents.”

“Hunting with dad and cooking with mom?”

More often than not — on good nights — he would dream of Abigail. Her auburn hair flying with the wind as they fished on a gentle stream that didn’t exist anywhere beside his mind. She would make humorous remarks about their pale skin turning red with the excess sun, and that they would regret not packing sunscreen in their bags. _I already have too many freckles, dad._ It would have been a slip of the tongue, something meant only for her, and before she could correct herself and apologize, he would smile — truly smile, and she would’ve known the truth. _I think of you as my daughter too. So does —_

_‘We are her fathers now. We have to serve her better than Garret Jacob Hobbs.’_

Then why did he take her away?

“And you would teach her how to cook actual food, not people. She would know the perfect wine pairings for every single meat that’s out there. Even flesh, because you would definitely share this knowledge with her. It could be a fun party trick, you know? When people have those drunken conversations that lead to nothing and nowhere, and someone always goes: _I wonder what human flesh tastes like._ And someone else would say: _I read it tastes just like pig._ And she would have a knowing smile on her face — that beautiful angelic face —, and say: _Actually_ …” He giggled, tears running down his face into his neck. He drank too much, way past the point of good buzz and into the dangerous zone of painful nostalgia. His eyes wandered somewhere past Hannibal, imagining Abigail surrounded by her peers, all eyes locked on her freckled face, as she went on and on about how human flesh really tasted like. It wasn’t like pig. It actually didn’t taste like any meat he’s ever had before. He knew it, and so did Hannibal. Abigail did too before… “She would go to college and then work in the FBI like she wanted to. Like she _deserved_.”

“She would have been a fine FBI agent, our Abigail.”

Will felt a wave of anger bubbling inside his chest. How dare him call her theirs, when he was the one who took her away in the first place?

“Would being the imperative term. She will never get to _be_ any of the things she wanted to, because you took her away from me — from _us. We_ can’t be any of the things we wanted to. Not anymore.”

“And in this wandering of yours… we’re a family? You and I are _together?_ ”

Will threw his head back, laughing.

“Unbelievable. _That_ is what you’re focusing on? I’m ill fitted for relationships, Dr. Lecter.”

“What makes you say that?”

Will motioned to their surroundings, as if to say: _‘Look around, Doctor. Have you seen where we are?’_ “I betrayed my vows and abandoned my wife and stepson to embark on a round the world escapade with a convicted serial murderer.”

“Don’t forget cannibal.”

“Right. Hannibal the Cannibal. It’s so obvious it rhymes.”

Jack had been the first to point out the coincidence out loud, but not the first to see the truth behind it. It took many months, Will behind bars and countless deaths for him to finally be believed. Will thought he would find comfort and relief in being believed, but the truth brought a new set of challenges he was not equipped to deal. Over three years later and he’s no closer to reaching a full understanding regarding his complicated — and rather volatile — feelings for his former nemesis. 

“I like to think I was hiding in plain sight.”

“You always are. That’s part of the problem, isn’t it? You hide so many parts of yourself, not even you can’t find them anymore. I know I can’t.”

“Is that what you would like to do, Will? Cut me open, dissect me and look for all the pieces you deemed to be missing?”

_Will scoffed. Hypocrisy is not a good look on you, Dr. Lecter._

“I could ask you the same.”

Hannibal sighed.

“This conversation is proving to be very unfruitful for our current state, Will.”

“What do you mean, Dr. Lecter? We’re just old friends enjoying a nice end of evening with good wine and light conversation.”

“Maybe we could use a change in subject to improve the overall mood.” Will rolled his eyes at him, busying himself with pouring more wine into his half empty glass. “Tell me… how did you find your encounter with Chiyoh?”

Will shook his head. _Is that really the way to make this conversation better? In what world?_ Hannibal was unbelievable. For someone who understood so much about the human mind and it’s motivations, he sometimes lacked the most basic knowledge of when to keep quiet.

“So she told you.”

“The foundation of this house is solid, it has to be because of the low temperatures. But the inside walls are rather thin, Will.”

“Hm… sorry about that.”

Except he wasn’t really sorry. Although he didn’t try to be louder than necessary, he didn’t restrain himself either. _You wanted him to hear_ , a part of him supplied. To which he vehemently denied: _I simply didn’t care if he heard. It’s different._ Like God, he too felt like gloating sometimes. And doing it at Hannibal’s expense appealed to the more uncivilized part of him. The part that indeed wanted to cut the man open just to see if he could fit inside, only to stitch him up back together and live with that knowledge. _Yes, I do fit in there. It’s where I belong._

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Will took another sip, suddenly feeling far too sober for this conversation. Sadly, the wine was all gone. He had to do with what was left on his glass.

“It was adequate at first. Good, once I found out it was her first time doing it.”

“Did it make you feel special? That you were her first?”

“It made me feel something. I don’t know if special is the word I would use to describe it, though.”

“Did that knowledge surprise you?”

“That she hadn’t shared your bed? Yes. Or at least it did at first. But the more I thought about it the more I realized it is so very you to make impossible demands and offer no rewards in return.” _Like God burying his devoted subjects underneath piles of concrete._ Will took another large sip of his wine until his glass was empty, watching as Hannibal savored his little by little. His eyes — even warmer from the reddish light from the fire reflecting on them —, did not leave Will’s. He hadn’t left the man’s eyesight since the very first time they spoke. He knew that now. Hannibal wanted to challenge Will’s antisocial tendencies and Will responded by being rude and undermining the man’s devotion to politeness and etiquette. He remembered how humorously hypocritical he found that Hannibal could accept a beheading better than he could an unwanted correction. “So... when can I expect the retaliation?”

“I beg you pardon?”

He released a tired puff of air. Will thought they were past circling around things.

“Isn’t that what you do when someone goes against your design? And both of your proteges from all people. It must sting, Dr.”

To Will’s surprise, the lack of light did very little to hide the slight change in Hannibal’s expression.

“I’m failing to understand your indignant response, Will. Have I not allowed you to enjoy each other’s comfort?”

_Wow, what a narcissistic asshole!_

“Comfort had very little to do with it. And the fact you think you need to allow two consenting adults to do anything, it’s an issue on its own.”

“Then explain it to me what was it about.”

“That’s the thing, Hannibal, I — _we_ don’t need to explain anything to you. Chiyoh is not Misha, she isn’t your sister, and she isn’t your daughter either. _I_ am not your…”

Will stopped himself mid-sentence. What was he going to say? That he wasn’t Hannibal’s friend? His lover? _You called him Hannibal. You’re letting him in again. Don’t let him in._

“You aren’t my _what,_ Will? I’m impossibly curious to know the end of that sentence.”

He was about to answer in a very impolite manner when he was reminded of the time Hannibal had inadvertently — according to him — , manipulated Margot into sleeping with him, only to manipulate her brother into mutilating her once he found out she was carrying Will’s child.

“Did you — do you — you _told_ her to have sex with me? Like some sort of twisted test? To see if I would —”

“Will… I did no such thing.” Hannibal placed one hand on Will’s knee, trying to calm his temper and get his attention. Will’s eyes were glued to his hand, his whole body rigid like he was expecting to be attacked. _Can you blame him?_ “You’re a very attractive man, Will. There’s hardly any need to go around looking for partners to set you up with.”

Something in Hannibal's words, or the way he had said them — _or maybe it’s your hand on his knee_ — , seemed to calm Will. The muscles on his shoulders were visibly relaxed, and he was no longer hunched forward.

“What am I doing in here, Hannibal? What are _we_ doing here? What is the endgame with all this?”

“I wasn’t aware we had to have one in mind.”

“Us maybe not, but _you_ have. You always have one. Always plotting..” Will rubbed his eyes rather forcefully, leaving red blotchy marks where his fingers dug into the delicate skin of his face. “I’m tired, Hannibal. Just so fucking tired.”

“Will — ”

“I’m tired of you slithering inside my mind and making a mess of my thoughts, to the point I’m not even sure I had them in the first place or if you put them there. Tired of having to walk on eggshells around each other, wondering if any little thing will set one of us off and we’ll go on a rampage. And most of all, I’m tired of not being able to trust you.” _Or myself._

“Then trust me, Will.” Hannibal held the man’s trembling face with a gentle grip, letting his fingers caress the skin underneath. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch ever so slightly. If Hannibal wasn’t looking at him so attentively, he might have missed it. A lone tear ran down Will’s cheek and he felt compelled to kiss it away. Instead, he opted for letting it melt into his skin. He didn’t want to push it too far. “I want nothing more than for us to enjoy each other’s company like we did — ”

“Before I fell victim to your manipulations?”

“I guess Uncle Jack isn’t the only one who sees you as my victim then.” Hannibal let his hands fall onto his lap and leaned back, pondered his options for a while. Will had made it abundantly clear that he _wanted_ to trust him. Only he couldn’t. Hannibal had a track record that spoke for itself, and he didn’t expect anyone — let alone his Will — , to simply forgive and forget. He knew that trust had to be earned and cultivated, and he had failed to do either of those things. Will wanted to trust, and Hannibal would do anything to give him that possibility. _Starting with the truth_. “At first my interest in you was mostly out of morbid curiosity. I wanted to see how far you could be pushed before braking. How far I could push you before you would break. Your brain was a beautiful thing, and I wanted to hold it in my hands and consume all of those neurons and synapses that made you who you are.”

“It’s not like you didn’t try to do that.”

“I did. And I do deserve your mistrust, anger and your skepticism. Don’t think I don’t know that. I truly wished I could undo the things I did, most of them at least, but some teacups shatter to a point that’s impossible to put it back together. I can only hope that one day we will be able to live with the broken pieces. _Together_.”

“It’s funny how rope and hope sound so similar.” _And you’ve had both around your neck._ “Hope is given as a subterfuge as we wait to be hanged for what we want. And I _need_ to be protected from my desires, Dr. Only the one who could help me do so, is also the one I need protection from.”

“I wouldn’t harm you, Will.”

“You have in the past. And I can’t be sure that you won’t try again.”

“Could you ever find it in yourself to forgive me?”

“I could. I could forgive everything: you framing me for your crimes, the manipulations, all the bruises and scars on my skin… even Beverly if I tried hard enough. But not Abigail. _Never_ Abigail.”

“She’s my biggest regret. That and not letting you know sooner just how special you were.”

“What?”

“When you came to ask me about Randal Tier, the answer I gave you then was out of my inability to admit the dept of my admiration towards you. The _real_ answer was, and still is, none. If you can’t trust anything else I say, then trust this: no one is like you, Will. No one will ever be. You stand atop a mountain only you could climb.” _And I wait at the bottom for the day you will decide to join me._

“And for that you tried to end me.”

“I tried to end you because your existence was a treat to my freedom.”

“So was any other FBI agent, Hannibal. So was Jack Crawford. I was hardly the only one on your case.”

‘Not the freedom of my body, Will. My ability to come and go would stand unaffected. Even in prison. I had my memory palace for that.”

“So what then?”

_Say it. Say it. I want to hear it from your lips. You —_

“The freedom of my heart, Will. I lived my whole life with no semblance of this feeling called love.” The closest he had ever gotten to was Misha. But even then he was far too young, and she was taken from him prematurely, rendering him incapable of developing such an emotion. After her Abigail, but his pride had been too big for him to open up completely to that avenue, and she too no longer had a place in his life. “It used to amuse me when patients described their heartaches because it sounded so alien and absurd to the point of being funny. I understood the theory behind it, sure, but it was only when you came into my life that my knowledge turned empirical.”

“Hannibal — ”

“All it took was one conversation, Will. Your love chained me way before the FBI did.”

“Except no you chained you, Hannibal. _You_ surrendered.”

“And I would do it all over again if it meant you would be the one holding my shackles.”

Will swallowed a premature whimper, shifting on his seat to find a comfortable position, but feeling like his limbs had suddenly outgrown the furniture. He had been fine not a minute ago — less even — but now everything felt cloudy and confusing again. He got up, fleeting towards the window, hoping that the image of snowflakes falling endlessly would offer him a much-needed sense of tranquility. It used to work back in Wolf Trap. After a particularlyhard day of consulting he used to sit on the porch — covered in blankets —, and sip on a warm cup of milk with a dash of cinnamon and a bit of honey to make it easier on the palate.

Still, the little masochist making a house of his bones would not be left without his poison of choice. Will looked back at Hannibal to find the man staring at him. He had to know.

“That’s how you feel then? A beast in chains?”

Hannibal followed his motion, and soon after stood beside Will — just inches afar. The same placement they had been in his office when Will confronted him about the true fate of Nicholas Boyle. Looking back it had seemed to him that Will’s anger was mostly directed at the fact they had lied to him, kept him in the dark regarding a matter he had all the right to partake in. _He killed Garret Jacob Hobbs after all._ Even then; the seed had already been there, inside of him, hiding in plain sight underneath his messy curls, heavy from his night sweats. A justifiable murder, sure. But murder nonetheless. Will could deny his nature to everyone — himself even — , but not to Hannibal.

He reached one arm to caress Will’s face.

“In chains and willing. Whatever you ask of me… it will be yours.”

Will brought his hand to touch Hannibal’s, but only to remove it from his face.

“All I want is some semblance of normalcy, Hannibal. That and some strong pain killers for when we’ll unavoidably be shot or wounded again.”

“I’m not sure I can offer normalcy yet, but I can offer the reckoning that was owed to you.”

“What are you — ” before he could finish the sentence, he watched as Hannibal put his hand inside one of his pockets and removed from it a small knife with a shiny curved blade. _The_ knife he had used on him and Abigail. Will felt the contents of his stomach threatening to escape the inside of his body. “Why do you still have this?”

“Forgive me, Will. I’m terribly sentimental.”

“That’s not being sentimental, Hannibal. That’s being a sadist.”

“Why can’t I be both? I find that sadism often requires a staggering amount of sentiment to be — ”

“Before you go into a tangent about something I care very little about at the moment, let me ask you this again: Why do you still have this?”

“And I told you, dear Will, I’m simply sentimental. And this blade means a lot to me.”

_It means a lot to him?_ To Will it felt more like a taunt than anything else that he had been carrying it inside his pocket — maybe at all times — , the very weapon that had cemented the beginning of their end. Hannibal liked to gloat, and it seemed that Will was still his favorite scapegoat. _I shouldn’t have trusted him. He’ll never change. He —_

“You used it to gut me, Hannibal! You punctured my stomach, I almost bled to death. You cut Abigail’s — ”

“I did. Once again you’ve suffered greatly by my hand and my hand _only_. Both of you.” Hannibal toyed with the knife, watching as the blade shifted colors as he twisted his wrist. “This blade has seen the inside of your bodies, and now it will see mine.”

“What are you — ”

His reasoning was cut short by Hannibal gently placing the handle of the knife into his palm, while he still had the blade on his.

“This is the reckoning that is owed to you, Will. You've left your mark on my soul, but not on my body.”

“I sent Matthew Brown after you.” He said, trying to deflect from the weight of the knife in his hand. Terribly familiar. Terribly tempting too. If he really still harbored savory emotions towards Hannibal, the man had given himself to Will on a silver platter. It was rare for him to give himself as a lamb to slaughter, but hardly the first time he had done it for Will’s sake. _He turned himself in just so I would always know where to find him._ “Did that not leave a mark?”

“Yes. But very impersonal of you if I might add. I want you to do it, Will. With your hands.”

“Hannibal, I — I can’t. I’m not skilled like you. I can cut something vital and — ”

“I’ve seen you with the fish, Will. You prepared them as if the blade was an extension of your hands. I’ll be well taken care.”

“Hannibal…”

“We’ll do it together then.” Hannibal covered Will’s unsure hands with his own, guiding the blade towards him. “Like the Dragon.”

“Together — ”

Before Will could barely stop speaking, he felt Hannibal’s grip tightening around his wrist and then pulling his hand towards the side of his abdomen, a little below his belly button. Hannibal winced, but his eyes were glistening in the low light — something akin to tears filling the inner corners, giving him hauntingly beautiful starry eyes. Stabbing him felt like running a warm knife through soft butter. He had expected more resistance, that the insides of the man would somehow fight the blade and force it out. But like he had said, he _wanted_ Will to do it. He wouldn’t trust anyone else with such an intimate gesture.

Hannibal’s hand felt to the side, leaving Will’s alone around the blade. He gave an experimental twist and then pushed it in, feeling as the surrounding flesh welcomed the intrusion even further. Hannibal grunted, still not removing his eyes from Will's. Still smiling. He pulled the knife out and Hannibal let out a wounded cry. It echoed across the empty halls, and when it bounced back at them, Will thought it sounded like an elk. Terrifying, yet beautiful.

The man tumbled and held onto Will to keep himself up.

“Now we’re truly the same.”

Will shook his head where it lay gently on the crook of Hannibal’s neck. The man looked up at him, and their eyes met once again. _No, there’s something missing_. With a swift motion he dragged the blade across the palm of his hand and placed it on top of Hannibal’s open wound.

“I was bleeding too. That day.” Will blushed and looked down at their connecting wounds. Hannibal made a pleased noise in the back of his throat and tightened his grip around Will. “We made a mess of things.”

“It was worth it.”

“I’ll clean it later. Here, let me help you.” Hannibal leaned against Will side, and both men sauntered towards the downstairs bedroom where Hannibal decide to stay. On the nightstand a first aid kit already waited for them. “Of course you had already planned for this.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t deny me the pleasure of being marked by you.”

“I guess I’m not the only masochist around.” He lay Hannibal onto the bed and helped him put both his legs up on the mattress. The blood had drenched his shirt and had already reached the waistband of his pants. “Do I have to stitch it shut or only cleaning will do?”

“For now, only cleaning will be enough. The bleeding is already under control, so I’m assuming no vital organs were affected.”

_That’s a bold assumption to make,_ Will thought. _It could cost your life._

“So you were definitely more careful with yourself than you were with me.” Will opened the box and observed some of the contents: gauze, scissors, bandages, antiseptic cream… nothing out of the ordinary, really. “I stayed in the hospital for quite some time.”

“Actually, you were more careful with me than I was with you. But that’s a mistake I won’t make again, Will.” Will snorted, and Hannibal sat up on the bed, taking the kit from him. “Here, let me help you with your hand.”

“Don’t be stupid, Hannibal. You could be bleeding internally from all we know.”

“I don’t think that’s the case. Besides, I take great pride in caring for your wounds.”

“Even if you weren’t the one to put them there?” He nodded, already ignoring Will’s advice and taking a cotton pad to clean the cut. “If Jack Crawford could see us right now, he would give a bitter laugh over how little things changed. We’re still hurting each other and then licking our wounds shut.”

_Speaking of which._

“Will… if it was the case, and Jack was _ indeed _offering a way out, would you take it?”

“I don’t think this is the case, Hannibal.”

“That is not what I asked, Will.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Absentmindedly he toyed with the bandages, circling it around his hand even though Hannibal hadn’t cleaned the wound properly it. Maybe you just don’t him want to. Maybe you want his blood to soak in trough your wound, so you can have him inside of you. Running through your veins. “It would be good not to be looking over my shoulder all the time. When I went into the city the other day, for the first hour or so, I was convinced someone was following me. I walked into alleyways and hidden streets until I convinced myself that no one was after me. But it still got me thinking for the rest of the afternoon. Wondering if today is the day where I will wake up in the bedroom and go to bed in prison.”

“Is prison the thought that scares you, or just the lack of freedom in general?”

Will pondered over his answer, taking his time to finish cleaning Hannibal’s wound and then bandaging the cut. It wasn’t the most professional job, but it would do for the night. He was satisfied with his work.

“The lack of control, I think, most of all. Having to be told when to wake up, to eat, what to do with my time and how to do it. I hate feeling that someone else has the reins of my life. I felt like that already and I want to leave this feeling in the past where it belongs.”

“I see.” Against his own aching body, Hannibal made the effort to adjust his body further, so he could stay at eye level with Will. Staring at him. “Are there other things you wish to leave in the past, Will?”

Will chuckled in response, looking at Hannibal trough his messy curls.

“Ask me what you really want to know, Hannibal. Ask me and I’ll answer it.”

“Do you regret the fate of the Dragon?”

“Do you want to know if I regret killing with you, Hannibal? Is that the burning question that won’t leave you at peace?”

“Amongst other things.”

“I can’t say I’m proud of it, but I’m not ashamed of it either.” It had felt right. At the time — now even — , slaying the Dragon seemed like the only possible outcome for that situation. The all-encompassing event Hannibal had been steering them towards since day one. “Besides… that was the final step of my becoming, was it not? What you wanted for me?”

“For—”

“ _Us,_ I know. That I wouldn’t change. All the rest is up to debate”

“I see.”

Satisfied with how both of their wounds had been tended to, Will put all the contents of the kit inside their respective places, all the while being watched by Hannibal. He dusted himself of a few loose strands that came out of the gauze and offered Hannibal a polite smile before getting up. Fully intending on leaving the man to rest and allowing himself the rest he too craved.

_Except… there was still something to be said._

Will turned back, giving Hannibal an expression he couldn’t quite place. If he were to guess, he would say it landed somewhere between endearment and content.

“And regarding the teacup… have you ever heard of the art of Kintsugi?” 

Hannibal searched inside his brain for the information. The word seemed familiar — maybe he heard it from his aunt Murasaki or Chiyoh even — , but still he couldn’t assign it with the proper definition.

“I’m unfamiliar with the term sadly.”

Will smiled. _That was a first._

“It’s a traditional Japanese art of mending broken pottery with a paste made of gold, used to fill in the cracks. Not intending to turn back the objects into what they once were but to accept them as they are now, however flawed or broken.”

Hannibal’s mouth fell open, and he couldn’t help the smile that formed in the corner of his lips. _Was Will saying — was he saying —_

“So there’s still hope for the teacup, dear Will?”

He shrugged, offering Hannibal a boyish grin and nothing else.

“Goodnight Hannibal. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Will.”


End file.
